


The Lesson of the Fig Tree

by anonymous_yet_again



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Bible, Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Gen, Good Friday, Maundy Thursday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:01:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23560480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymous_yet_again/pseuds/anonymous_yet_again
Summary: It is Thursday night, or maybe Friday morning, during Holy Week--the first Holy Week ever, in fact. A small group has gathered at Gethsemane. Earlier in the week, someone spoke to a fig tree and cursed it never to bear fruit again, and Crowley is curious, because this whole plant-cursing thing sounds a bit familiar._______Just in case anyone was wondering, I promise that I am still (slowly) working on "Unprophesied," but I thought this Holy Week fic should be posted on Holy Week.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	The Lesson of the Fig Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a reference to a passage in three of the four Gospels: Mark 13:28-31, Matthew 24:32-35, and Luke 21:29-33.

The groves on the Mount of Olives yielded some particularly nice olives. Or so Aziraphale had mentioned. Crowley hadn’t tried them himself, and it was took dark to inspect them now[1] but he had fruiting trees on his mind as he picked his way down one of the lower slopes.

When he reached Gethsemane, he stopped and looked at the figure--prostrate but not unconscious--in the clearing. There was no way that the young man didn’t know he was there, but he ignored him and kept up his quiet muttering, until Crowley cleared his throat needlessly, and said, “Yeshua.”

The man who three days and some large number of years later would be known as Jesus sighed and pushed himself off the ground onto his knees. “I wondered if you’d come,” he said.

Crowley eyed him. Jesus’ clothing was a bit dirt-streaked, since he’d just been lying on the ground and all, and his hair was a bit greasy, and he looked tired. His eyes, though, looked the same as they ever had; dark and _deep_ , like a well, and with that same look that had made the temple scholars somehow trust him enough, when he was twelve years old, to both ask and answer questions. “Are your friends--?” said Crowley.

“They’re asleep,” said Jesus, glancing behind himself to a place hidden by the trees. “I woke them up once already. They’re tired; I’m going to have to do it again.”

“You look tired,” said Crowley honestly. “You know--”

“You’ve done this once already,” said Jesus, settling into a seated position and wrapping his arms around his knees. “Remember? All the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them?”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” said Crowley, stung a little. “This isn’t really a professional visit.”

“I know,” said Jesus, which, fair, he probably did.

“I heard you cursed a fig tree,” said Crowley. This wasn’t what he’d come to say, but it also was. Jesus with his arms around his knees, looking up with his perceptive, deep-set eyes was kind of disconcerting, so Crowley sat down, too. After all, he’d lived closer to the ground not _that_ long ago.

Jesus laughed, and Crowley was startled. “I did,” he said when he was done laughing. “I was angry.”

“I just thought it sounded a little familiar,” said Crowley. “Honestly, when Aziraphale asked about the tree, I thought I’d forgotten where I was last Monday. But you did it.”

“Well,” said Jesus, “never let it be said that you didn't have an impact on me.”

This was definitely something that merited some thought, mainly because Crowley hadn’t really thought they’d interacted much after those forty days in the desert. Sure, he’d kept an eye on him[2], but he hadn’t gone and _chatted_ with the Messiah regularly or anything. “Bet your friends were impressed,” he said, while thinking.

“They were,” said Jesus, and looked a little sheepish, shepherd metaphors aside. “I used it as a lesson on faith.”

“Hah,” said Crowley, “just wait till they’re all going around cursing plants in your name.”

“I think, as an event this week, it might end up being a little overshadowed,” said Jesus. Neither of them were laughing anymore.

“You don’t have to die,” said Crowley.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t do that,” said Jesus.

“This isn’t for _them_ ,” said Crowley dismissively. “I’m not here for anyone else--it’s for, well, _you_ , Yeshua. You don’t have to do it, you know that. It’s your choice.”

“Oh, Crowley,” said Jesus. “That’s sweet.” He rubbed tiredly at his face, and Crowley saw that there were tear tracks along with the dirt, and that Jesus looked very young and very old all at the same time. “I know it's my choice,” he said quietly. “That’s why I have to do it.” He glanced back towards his hidden, sleeping friends again.

“You really do love them, don’t you,” said Crowley. “I mean, not just _them_ , the ones who’ll deny you and stuff; I mean all of them. Humans.”

“I _am_ human,” said Jesus, with a last, quick smile. “Just ask that fig tree.” It was such a ridiculous, true statement that Crowley laughed in spite of himself. “And I need to go wake my friends two more times before Judas arrives,” he added. “So you should probably go.”

Crowley sighed and stood up. It hadn’t been a temptation, really, but he’d wanted to try. “I guess you’re sure, then.”

“Very sure,” said Jesus. “And Crowley--I love them just as much as I love you.”

Before Crowley could think of a response to that, Jesus was gone, moving through the olive groves to go wake his tired and sleeping friends for the second time. Crowley meandered away in the opposite direction, thinking. Jesus was fully human _and_ fully divine, they said--however that worked--but Crowley knew the human part meant he had free will. Seemed a bit like a waste of free will, he thought, to just go and get yourself crucified anyway. Or maybe not. Maybe that was kind of the point.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 An excuse, of course, because he could see in the dark; it was more that he was too intent on his target and didn’t want to admit it. [return to text]
> 
> 2 For professional reasons as well as personal ones. He was God’s Son, of course Crowley would watch him, but those forty days had been interesting for Crowley, too. [return to text]  
> _________________
> 
> The story where Jesus curses a fig tree shows up in the Gospels of both Mark and Matthew. Basically, he gets angry because he wants a fig but it's the wrong time of year so there aren't any figs on the tree. When his disciples comment, he uses it as a lesson on how if you have faith, you can do anything (like curse a fig tree), but I also read it as a very human moment; how many of us have cursed at something inanimate in a moment of frustration? Anyway, I am Christian and believe in God and the resurrection and all that and don't actually believe that Crowley came to hang out at Gethsemane; but I also believe in the power of stories, and the connection between the fig tree and Crowley's houseplant tendencies was too good to pass up.


End file.
